“Rest is not death; it is life, and all life bears fruit.” – A.G. Sertillanges
I worked my way back to the office to finish some work after dinner. There’s a lot to do lately. And it calls at me, nagging for more time. But getting to my desk, my chair was occupied by a cat with a different idea of how to live. Taking the hint, I decided to leave the work for another day and sit down to listen to music instead… and promptly fell asleep myself.
The end of the year brings a certain level of chaotic completion with it. Things come together in the end, or they don’t and slip into the next year. What are we to do about it but our best?
Proper rest is the key. Sleep, recover, begin again. The cat knows this, and deep down I do too.
Life is the daily march towards excellence or oblivion. We make of it what we will, but we all have our role to play in the dance. Isn’t it better to get out on the floor and do your bit, however awkward it might feel at times? That bit, done consistently, defines what our mark on the world might be.
I saw a funny graph recently that sums up perfectly the act of incrementally building something meaningful, with no tangible signs of progress:
Source: @jackbutcher
It reminded me of a Latin phrase I’d saved as a reminder to myself to do what I can in the time I have: Ars longa, vita brevis (“art takes time and life is short”). For this is the cadence of mastery on display. We grind along in our chosen work, building consistently towards–should we be so bold as to dream it–excellence. And what external signs do we see but polite encouragement from friends and family and quiet indifference from the universe?
“We must always seek, always endeavor. Nature makes the wilderness flower anew, the star to shine, the water to flow down slopes, round obstacles, into empty places, dreaming of the sea that waits it yonder, and which it may at last reach.” – A.G. Sertillanges, The Intellectual Life
But what do we seek? Attention? Profit? Mastery itself? The answer is different for everyone, but I think the answer lies in perfecting the craft to the best of our ability in the short time we have in each day, and by extension, in our brief lives. This incremental ascent to better is our mission, and if we’re lucky maybe something comes of it in the end. But the magic is in the daily attempt to reach levels previously unimaginable while plodding along in the valley of “this is pointless”. Most people just move on to less frustrating pursuits. But excellence demands consistent attention.
“Because we think well of ourselves, but nonetheless never suppose ourselves capable of producing a painting like one of Raphael’s or a dramatic scene like one of Shakespeare’s, we convince ourselves that the capacity to do so is quite extraordinarily marvelous, a wholly uncommon accident, or, if we are still religiously inclined, a mercy from on high. Thus our vanity, our self-love, promotes the cult of the genius: for only if we think of him as being very remote from us, as a miraculum, does he not aggrieve us…. But, aside from these suggestions of our vanity, the activity of the genius seems in no way fundamentally different from the activity of the inventor of machines, the scholar of astronomy or history, the master of tactics. All these activities are explicable if one pictures to oneself people whose thinking is active in one direction, who employ everything as material, who always zealously observe their own inner life and that of others, who perceive everywhere models and incentives, who never tire of combining together the means available to them. Genius too does nothing but learn first how to lay bricks then how to build, and continually seek for material and continually form itself around it. Every activity of man is amazingly complicated, not only that of the genius: but none is a ‘miracle.’” — Friedrich Nietzsche
That’s a long quote, borrowed in its entirety from Robert Greene’s book Mastery. Maybe it’s too long to quote in a relatively short blog post, but I like to break a few rules of SEO order along the way. This blog, for all I put into it daily, is a small but important part of the life I’ve built for myself, and an indicator to those who might pay attention of the incremental progress I make towards become a better human. As another year draws to a close, I think about the progress I’ve made, see the long climb ahead of me, and hope I’m given the time to reach my own personal summit. Excellence? Mastery? No… not yet, but maybe a small step closer.
I casually cracked open a bottle of water and placed the cap on the table. Sitting there, it seemed insignificant and commonplace. But hidden inside that cap is a time machine, bringing my brief encounter with it to the future, likely long after I’m gone myself. That bottle cap may survive the entire bloodline of my family, and by its very make-up an artifact representing an instant in my own brief moment in this world.
Walk into any museum or visit an archeological dig and you’ll find artifacts to past lives. These were the bottle caps of their time, pottery, utensils, arrowheads and other trivial bits from which we derive the larger life of the person who left that artifact behind. That bottle cap represented but a moment of hydration in an otherwise ordinary day of business travel. I wonder what might be derived from it in the future, when millions of such plastic caps live on as time machines for countless other lives?
The only thing certain is that they will point back at a time when the trivial bottle cap immediately became an afterthought, cast aside to begin its life cycle beyond our own. A life of hundreds of years, all to serve a few weeks of containing whatever fluid we happened to consume. The entire transaction is so commonplace in the average life of one soul on this planet, and yet has such a lasting impact on the environment.
With all the variants dancing about, I was finally able to get my booster shot yesterday. For the record, it was the mRNA COVID-19 vaccine (Pfizer-BioNTech). And just like with the second shot, my body reacted to it with a wave of chills hours afterwards. For the second dose, it was at the twenty hour mark. For this one, it caught up to me at fifteen hours. For about an hour I shook so hard I had to put a towel in my mouth so I wouldn’t bite my tongue. Fun! But in both cases, I felt that if this was what the vaccine does to me I’m grateful I didn’t get the virus. The wave eventually passes. A bit if discomfort is the price of admission for the new normal.
Everyone reacts differently, of course, and some people get no symptoms at all. I rarely get sick, so it was interesting to get this wave of feverish chills with the second two doses. But there’s another twist to this story–I got the flu shot at the same time. Is that reckless or efficient? Who knows, but my body informed me that I was ambitious.
If this all sounds like a negative stance on the vaccine, well, that’s not the case at all. Just one person’s experience with the three doses of Pfizer. I’d do it all again if it turns out we’ll require a fourth dose someday. But I sure hope that’s not the case.
With all that said, get your booster. We like you too much for you to get sick now. After all we’ve been through together.
Aren’t there moments that are better than knowing something, and sweeter? Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dark trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing more than prettiness. — Mary Oliver, Snowy Night
I know I have some readers in other parts of the world where snow is a distant memory or an impossibility. You might wonder why we carry on so much about the stuff, and it’s hard to nail down the reasons for the delight when we finally get snow again. While most of us have a love/hate relationship with it for all the joy and misery it brings, I think of it as an old friend that’s been gone too long.
Oliver’s quote is from a magical poem about encountering an owl on a snowy night. I quote Oliver poems perhaps more than I should in this blog, but I believe in mixing wonder into our lives. Oliver had a keen eye for the stuff, and jumbled her words just so to share it with you and me and generations who we haven’t imagined yet. That’s magic in itself, isn’t it?
You develop a nose for snow, and sense when it’s coming. You prepare for it as best you can, doing the yard work you put off way longer than you should have, move the shovels into a more convenient place, and the snowblower too if you have one. And then you wait for the first flakes to begin drifting from the sky, probing the land like a pilot probing a channel. Soon the rest follow and the world transforms before your eyes. Snow brings new perspective on a place you’ve come to see a certain way. Like a poem, really, that’s dropped on you at just the right moment.
“The spirit of silence must… pervade the whole of life. That is what matters most of all. It is said sometimes that solitude is the mother of results. Not solitude, but the state of solitude. So much so that we could, strictly speaking, conceive an intellectual life based on two hours’ work per day. But does anyone imagine that having set those two hours aside one may then act as if they did not exist? That would be a grave misconception. Those two hours are given to concentration, but the consecration of the whole life is none the less necessary.” — A.G. Sertillanges, The Intellectual Life
Living in a state of solitude sounds lonely, but really it’s just the opposite. Lonely is feeling apart from the world, living with a spirit of silence opens you up to the world, to be a part of it. And this is where the magic happens, or, if you will, the consecration of life. To live sacredly, fully alive, fully aware, and full of possibility. This isn’t derived from background noise and distraction, but from quieting the mind and truly seeing.
“A crowded world thinks that aloneness is always loneliness and that to seek it is perversion” — John Graves
A coworker resigned earlier this week to return to a job he’d previously left, not because the current position wasn’t lucrative and full of growth potential, but because he felt lonely. What he meant by that was he couldn’t drop by to see old industry friends every week in a route, like someone delivering milk. This is a life of the familiar, and there’s comfort in it that we can all understand. The pandemic robbed us of much of this, and even as variants spike people stubbornly hold on to interaction with others because it’s a part of their lives they don’t want to be away from any longer. Who doesn’t understand the draw of the comfortable and familiar?
A state of solitude turns inward, not to be antisocial or reclusive, but to open up the senses to awareness. Awareness of the inner tension inside of us helps us see that battle others have inside themselves. And this awareness leads to a state of receptiveness—to take in the world as it comes to you. I’m no expert on such things, but I can see that those hours of concentration have brought me closer to it.
“When someone is anxious about being aware all the time, you can spot the mild anxiety. They want to be awake, to find out if they’re really awake or not. That’s part of asceticism, not awareness. It sounds strange in a culture where we’ve been trained to achieve goals, to get somewhere, but in fact there’s nowhere to go because you’re there already. ” — Anthony De Mello, Awareness
Do you want to dance in your awareness? Seek solitude, wherever you might be. Walk in the natural world. Breath deep, listen and look at the world buzzing around you, look inside, and see. And you’ll find, in the stillness of that moment, that you’re already dancing with it.
“I don’t like either the word [hike] or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains – not ‘hike!’ Do you know the origin of that word saunter? It’s a beautiful word. Away back in the middle ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going they would reply, ‘A la sainte terre’, ‘To the Holy Land.’ And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not ‘hike’ through them.” — John Muir
I’ve been absent from the mountains for a long stretch now. A heel injury nags and before that an ankle injury right above it and really, what’s it all but excuses and reluctance to push onward through a bit of pain? I’d been saving this quote for my next saunter up the mountains—to the Holy Land—but I’m done waiting for the moment. For all my enduring love for the mountains, my pilgrimage is with life itself.
John Muir turned the act of hiking to where it belonged; towards reverence. For who doesn’t encounter reverence deep in the mountains? And what of life? Life can be an unfair grind, filled with misery and pain and setbacks, and maybe we feel a bit of reluctance to be reverent about the slog we feel we’re on. There’s immense suffering in this world, serious challenges to our collective future, and I don’t turn a blind eye to it writing about sauntering merrily through life. But shouldn’t we meet each moment for the ripe potential it offers? Shouldn’t we seek a path that brings us to a better place?
Once I plodded through life, grinding it out in jobs I didn’t love, invested in relationships that didn’t matter all that much in the end, wasting time on the inconsequential. Humans are very good at frivolously consuming away our time like so many empty calories, until our fingers reach the bottom of the bag and we realize we’re left with emptiness and greasy fingers. I’m not so much like that now. Now I celebrate moments. Now I saunter.
The world continues to assault our senses. Sauntering is an embrace of the world as it is, taking it on the chin but greeting life as it comes. A move away from consumption in the present towards the mission of the future potential in all of us. Staying on the path with a spirit of aliveness despite the worst hardships life throws at us. Living with reverence for the gift of the pilgrimage.
Google “Ben Franklin’s five hour rule” and you’ll receive page after page of business magazine articles gushing about how you too can transform your career and life using old Ben’s technique. They spin it to current times saying Bill Gates and Elon Musk follow this rule too! Just click and read on… and you get pretty much the same paragraph from every one of them:
“The five-hour rule is a process first implemented by Benjamin Franklin for constant and deliberate learning. It involves spending one hour a day or five hours a week learning, reflecting and experimenting.”
I could link to one of those articles, but which one? They all use the same two vanilla sentences. No deep dive into actual Ben Franklin quotes. I’m at a point in my life where this just doesn’t hold up for me anymore. Life is deeper than a Twitter-sized rule for living.
You know who’s not breathlessly scanning those business articles for that one key rule used by Ben Franklin? Bill Gates or Elon Musk. Because they’ve long since passed that level of reading and shallow thinking in their own lives through consistent, dedicated learning, applied personal growth habits and occasionally taking audacious risks measured against that acquired knowledge.
And that last bit is the key. Knowing when to take the leap into the unknown isn’t just instinct, it’s detecting patterns and opportunity gleaned from multiple sources of informed learning. Put down the mobile phone and pick up a book, find a quiet corner of your hectic life, and read. Learn something new that brings you to something else new. And as you acquire that wisdom do something with it. Gates and Musk, like Franklin before them, are just people like you and me who take things to a level the rest of us aren’t prepared or willing to go to… but could.
For the last several years I’ve read every day, sought meaningful encounters wherever I am, stretched my reading to sometimes uncomfortable places, learned a bit of another language every day and firmly established the habit of writing about it right here in this blog. I’m living that Franklin rule without calling it that. I’ve learned that life is more complicated than two sentence rules for living. But the occasional spark of applied audacity has its place too.
“If you want to win the war for attention, don’t try to say ‘no’ to the trivial distractions you find on the information smorgasbord; try to say ‘yes’ to the subject that arouses a terrifying longing, and let the terrifying longing crowd out everything else….
The way to discover a terrifying longing is to liberate yourself from the self-censoring labels you began to tell yourself over the course of your mis-education… Focus on the external objects of fascination, not on who you think you are. Find people with overlapping obsessions.
The information universe tempts you with mildly pleasant but ultimately numbing diversions. The only way to stay fully alive is to dive down to your obsessions six fathoms deep. Down there it’s possible to make progress toward fulfilling your terrifying longing, which is the experience that produces the joy.” — David Brooks, “The Art of Focus”, The New York Times
The tricky thing about discovering “primary source” material is that you’ll uncover that what you believed to be primary source references other primary sources, which infers they aren’t the primary source at all. Such is the Great Conversation, spinning through life one book, interview or article at a time. We leap from one to the other, like stones across a stream, until we reach our destination with delight (and a new stack of reading material).
Something recently pointed me towards Cal Newport’s Deep Work, which is a how-to book on pushing the shallow work aside to get to the deep work, where we differentiate ourselves and find true meaning in our careers and lives. Newport, in turn, pointed me towards several articles and books that I hadn’t previously been aware of, and a couple that I hadn’t fully absorbed on the first go-around. I’ve pursued them all recently, all in an effort to get meaningful work done. For we all must go deeper if there’s any hope for us to contribute something meaningful. And that requires breaking the spell of distraction:
“Efforts to deepen your focus will struggle if you don’t simultaneously wean your mind from a dependence on distraction. Much in the same way that athletes must take care of their bodies outside of their training sessions, you’ll struggle to achieve the deepest levels of concentration if you spend the rest of your time fleeing the slightest hint of boredom.” — Cal Newport, Deep Work: Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World
Here’s the thing: In diving into all this material around deep work, I’ve questioned whether this blog is itself deep or shallow (It aims for deep, but sometimes skims a bit shallower than I’d like). But what is the purpose of the blog but to establish a daily habit of writing and finding things out—things that gradually pull me deeper? Put another way, those stones I’m hopping across in life are documented, one at a time, for anyone that wishes to follow along. But even here, we all choose our own path across that stream of life, we just happen to land on the same spot now and then.
That terrifying longing? It’s on the other side, and the only way to reach it is to stop watching the debris float by in the stream of distraction and focus on the next landing spot, and the one after that. Our time is short, and we have so far to go. So go deeper.
We’ve somehow arrived at a place where a lot of people seem to take issue with other people. Where people in power want to grab a lot more for themselves to stroke their egos. Where grabbing as much as possible now is more important than saving things for later. And I wonder at the strangeness of it all. For I view the world in just the opposite way. And I think that most people do as well.
And yet the angry voices prevail. What do we make of it? And how do we turn things back towards collaboration and generosity? Back to where it felt we were not all that long ago.
I believe the key is to raise our voice more often. I never was much for raising my voice and questioning the logic of some unusually vocal outlier. Too confrontational. But the problem is we have too many people just keeping their mouths shut and letting things be. And that’s when the people on the angry edges get their voice heard. That’s when the development edges out the forest. That’s when extremists storm the capital and pretend it wasn’t what you saw when it fails.
Can’t be singing louder than the guns, while I’m gone So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here – Phil Ochs, When I’m Gone
Maybe it was hearing this song again, thinking about the battles for peace and equality 50 years ago that have never been fully resolved, that has me thinking this way. Maybe it’s being sick and tired of all the violence and twisted logic parroted back to me from people sipping the poison a little too much. But I’ve about had it with passively listening to people justify what I believe to be wrong.
We’re all taught to be polite, to not make a fuss about things. But others break this unspoken rule all the time to advance their interests. At some point you’ve got to rise up and speak for what is right. We have to speak up to save what is left of the planet and humanity. While it’s here.
